


Untitled Free-Write

by imaginationtherapy



Series: The Kaleidoscope Project [11]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Dark, Depression, Free Verse, Panic, Poetry, Prose Poem, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: This, this is what panic feels like.





	Untitled Free-Write

**Author's Note:**

> This prose poem was written to convey the emotions and thoughts of someone going through a panic attack. I reference drugs once, very briefly.

I feel it again. It’s taking over, rising inside me, making me shake. My hands—I can’t keep them steady. Peace, I need peace. There is no peace. 

The heroin epidemic—they say it’s calming down, everywhere but here. This must be what they feel like. Withdrawal. Panic. Need to find a fix.

Jam headphones into ears. Music, oh, music! Might work. Run to class. Don’t look at anyone. They might see the fear. Wonder if the Mormons felt this way, in 1838. Running from Missouri or facing lawful massacre. This must be how they felt.

Go to class. Feel the panic return as the music is yanked from my mind. Like the lava flow encroaching on rural Hawaii, fear slowly takes over your soul.

God save me. I need to see You, to see peace. Like Constantine’s vision of the cross, so many years ago today. Peace. 

This is silly. Like if Darth Vader was voting today in the Ukraine. Utterly insane. Everyone thinks I’m insane. No—worse. They think I’m weak. They think I’m not trying. Emily Post, her birthday is today, she’d say I have no propriety. But I can’t just divorce my mind. I’m stuck with it, with this. I wish…I wish they all could see.

My fear makes me—not weak. Tired.

I rise to meet the day. Pray to God to save me.

Help.

**Author's Note:**

> The above prose was an interesting exercise from a writing class. Someone in the class listed off different historical events that took place that day. We were to then free write for a certain amount of time, working those events into our writing. This also appears to be the first time I equate my intense emotions to those of one on drugs such as heroin or LSD. I am switching from the romantic view of my symptoms to treating them as something unpleasant. I believe this is because I was experiencing what is called mixed mania much more than previously. Mixed mania is basically the depression mindset mixed with the energy of manic. It’s awful. Panic attack on steroids. Self-hatred mixed with the desire to constantly move. I believe this poem is based on one of those episodes.


End file.
